


I Could Throw You in a Lake, or Feed You Poison Birthday Cake...

by dancinghopper



Category: Merlin (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:27:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27909733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancinghopper/pseuds/dancinghopper
Summary: “Fucking hell,” says Guinevere, under her breath, as Morgana and Merlin start up their third duel of the week, and Arthur just pinches the bridge of his nose, and gestures vaguely for George to come and clean up the mess.or; Morgana and Merlin might be back on the same side, but that doesn't mean they stop trying to kill each other.
Relationships: Merlin & Morgana (Merlin), implied Gwen/Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 19
Kudos: 211





	I Could Throw You in a Lake, or Feed You Poison Birthday Cake...

**Author's Note:**

> i listened to "i can't decide" by the scissor sisters and went briefly insane for a few hours. this is a comedy

“Merlin has magic!” screeches Morgana, pointing a finger, and Arthur whips around in Merlin’s direction instantly, sword cleaving through the air, and Morgana thinks _ha, finally, you better think twice before poisoning me next time, you fucker_ , and then Arthur yells:

“You _told Morgana?!_ ”

Merlin, somehow, goes even whiter.

“ _You know?!”_

***

Nobody expects that to be the clincher that ends the war, but it is, and so Morgana is taken back to Camelot, and everything is new and also weird.

Morgana decides surprisingly quickly that she likes being back in the castle, even if she’s supposedly under house arrest. She thought she wouldn’t, that it would be too much like admitting defeat, but actually it’s been rather delightful. Merlin jumps every time she rounds a corner, his eyes flashing, and every time Morgana sends him her little smirk and a wiggle of her fingers, and enjoys the way his jaw clenches.

Arthur is easier to forgive. She supposes that they’ve been siblings for a lot longer than they’ve known about it, and what’s a bit of murder between brother and sister? It’s practically water under the bridge. But _Merlin_ , however, is a different story.

“Please stop trying to kill him,” says Gwen, exasperated, and she’s another one who’s not that keen on forgiving Morgana, and it stings, but she’s the one person where Morgana’s willing to admit that she doesn’t deserve it and likely never will. She’s also the only one from whom Morgana _wants_ forgiveness, which is incredibly vexing, but at least Morgana’s constant attempts on Merlin’s life have gotten her one thing, which is this: Gwen at her elbow, rolling her eyes, and just a little less icy than usual.

“He started it,” snaps Morgana, and Merlin shoots her such a _filthy_ look from where he’s mopping up the wine, wiping his mouth on his new velvet jacket. Arthur bats his hand away.

“Don’t do that,” he snaps, and hands him a napkin instead. “It’s like you’ve got no appreciation for the finer things in life.”

Merlin takes the napkin.

“Can we go back to the fact that Morgana just _tried to kill me?_ ” he demands, and Morgana just smirks at him.

“Well, it’s not exactly the first time,” says Arthur, in fairness, and Merlin makes the king’s goblet jump up and dump wine on his shirt. “Oh, very mature.”

“Don’t be dramatic, Merlin,” Morgana says, in a bored voice, and inspects her nails. “If I _really_ wanted to kill you I’d have used something tasteless like _you_ did, you great buffoon.”

Merlin glares at her.

“Arthur,” he says, voice tight. “ _Do_ something about this.”

Arthur sighs. He turns to Morgana, elbows on the table. ”Stop poisoning Merlin, Morgana, or I’ll have your riding privileges revoked.”

Merlin grins triumphantly at her. Morgana glares.

“Who’d have thought,” she mutters. “The great _Emrys_ needing back up from a _king_.”

“Oh, go brush that bird’s nest you’re calling hair,” snaps Merlin, which just sets them off again, tossing vicious insults and the occasional bit of cutlery at each other. Morgana rockets to her feet, her palms flat on the table, a stance that Merlin imitates, both of them screaming at each other over the roast pig.

“ _Shut up!”_ yells Gwen, eventually, and they both stop yelling, but maintain their staring contest. Morgana hasn’t had this much fun in _years_.

“Arthur,” says Merlin, looking her dead in the eye. “I’m not having her stay here.”

Arthur wraps his hand around Merlin’s wrist, and tugs him back into his seat.

“Sit _down_ , Merlin,” he says. “Morgana, do you think, _perhaps_ , that you can _calm_ _down_ a moment and remember that we are trying to forge a new age of magic across the entirety of Albion, and that I can’t very well do that if you kill my court sorcerer?”

Morgana puffs her cheeks out, and plonks back down in her seat.

“Fine,” she says, and crosses her arms tight over her chest. Arthur blinks.

“Thank you,” he says, and tucks back into his pork. Merlin chops one of his roast potatoes in half, sticks it in his mouth defiantly (one corner of Morgana’s threatens to perk up), and then his eyes bug out of his skull, and he spits it right back out again, so that it joins the wine already on the table. Morgana cackles.

“ _Fucking hell_ ,” says Guinevere, under her breath, as Morgana and Merlin start up their third duel of the week, and Arthur just pinches the bridge of his nose, and gestures vaguely for George to come and clean up the mess.

***

Morgana and Merlin do not stop trying to kill each other.

Six months after the war ends (which was done less bloodily than one might’ve expected, considering the final battle was put on hold for Morgana and Arthur to have a sibling’s row) and five after her unofficial pardon, Morgana walks past Arthur in a corridor, stops, and then immediately backs up to interrogate him.

“What are they?” she demands, and Arthur colours a bit.

“A gift,” he says, and she squints at him, because he wouldn’t be embarrassed about getting them for Gwen, she’s his _wife_ , but his shoulders have hiked up defensively anyway. He licks his lips. “For Merlin’s birthday.”

Morgana is delighted.

“Fuck off,” says Arthur, and pushes past her. “You’re a traitor, I don’t have to listen to you.”

“I didn’t say anything!” calls Morgana, at his retreating back, and then murmurs something under her breath, her eyes flashing gold, and walks off with a skip in her step.

***

Merlin barges into her chambers later that night, and throws the scorched flowers at her violently.

“You’re _evil_ ,” he seethes, and Morgana smirks at him, flicking through her book.

"What now, Merlin?" she asks, sweetly. The candles glow brighter for a minute, and Merlin really _does_ look pissed, this time.

“These nearly _strangled_ Gwen, you—you—”

He breaks off, at a loss for words. Morgana sits up a little straighter, trying and failing to ignore the traitorous tug of her heart, her book snapping shut with a too-loud band.

“Gwen?” she asks, sharply. “Arthur said they were for you.”

“Well, they—” Merlin goes pink. “They were.”

Morgana frowns. “Then why was Gwen near them? It’s the middle of the night!”

Merlin swallows. He clenches and unclenches his fists.

“It doesn’t matter,” he says, tightly, breath coming quick and laboured. “Just— you know, if you’re going to kill me, kill _me_ , alright?”

Morgana presses her lips together, and nods. Merlin looks a bit surprised.

“Oh,” he says. “Well, good.”

He mutters at her as he goes, and Morgana is quickly distracted from her line of thought by the bedcurtains coming alive and trying to suffocate her.

***

“Wait,” says Merlin, disbelieving, three weeks later. “ _You’re_ the sorcerer I’m investigating?”

Morgana twirls the knife in her fingers, pacing around him in circles. He is strung up by his ankles, face going red as the blood rushes to it, and her cloak swishes dramatically on her heels. She clicks her fingers, and the trapdoor below him opens up of its own accord, revealing the serket trapped in the room below, which hasn’t been fed in weeks. Merlin’s eyes go wide.

“It’s nothing personal, Merlin,” says Morgana, and then reconsiders. “Well, no, it is, obviously. See you later. Or not.”

The rope Merlin’s held up by drops an inch. Morgana waves as she exits her little house, and then her good mood is promptly ruined by bumping into Arthur, who looks at her, and promptly loses all his fight.

“Where’s Merlin?”

Morgana puts on a polite expression of innocence. “He got tied up.”

Arthur sighs. “You really have to stop this,” he says, and goes to rescue him.

***

The first time Morgana is oh so gracefully allowed to attend a meeting of the round table, someone fires an arrow at her head. Everyone leaps to, swords at the ready, but Morgana, scowling, is the only person who looks to Arthur’s right, and meets Merlin’s gaze. He shrugs minutely at her. Morgana grits her teeth.

***

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” asks Merlin, as they all wander out over the drawbridge. Lots of people are staring, not that Morgana cares, and if she didn’t think Arthur would give her an earful and remind her that she is still, technically, part of the royal family, she would make a rude gesture. In fact, she is so busy thinking about this, and Arthur is so busy making sure she doesn’t suddenly try to cripple his kingdom, that neither of them notice when someone throws themselves straight at Merlin, tackling him and sending him flying over the bridge and into the lake.

“Ack!” yelps Merlin, and then there is a mighty splash, and Morgana experiences the tell-tale feeling of being thrown back with magic, slamming painfully onto the stone floors, dust puffing around her. Arthur launches into action, drawing his sword.

“Help Merlin!” he yells, and Morgana sighs, rolls her eyes, and gets to her feet, wandering over to the edge of the bridge while Arthur fends off the attackers. There is a sorcerer trying to drown Merlin in Camelot’s very own moat, which Morgana has to give them credit for, because it’s quite a ballsy move. It is also, apparently, a little bit successful, because Merlin currently has his head under water, and therefore can’t yell any spells. Morgana briefly mourns the loss of her favourite dress, and leaps in after him.

“ _Morgana_ ,” gasps the sorcerer, and oh, this is embarrassing, Morgana _knows_ him. He falters long enough for her to flick her wrist, and he flies off to the bank, knocked unconscious. Merlin rockets up for air, looking sort of pissed off.

“Oh, _great_ , it’s _you_ ,” he says, and then Morgana puts both her hands on his head, and dunks him back under, laughing when his wrists come up to try and dislodge her grip. She tugs harder on his hair.

“Morgana, for _fuck’s_ sake, not _now,_ ” bellows Arthur, from the bridge, and Morgana rolls her eyes again, and releases Merlin so that he can splutter to the surface, coughing.

“Will you _stop_ ,” says Merlin, exasperated, and Morgana cheerfully shakes her head. He pushes his fringe out of his face. “Is Arthur alright?”

As if on cue, someone _not_ decked out in Camelot’s colours plummets into the moat, the splash drenching them both anew, and so they decide to take that as a yes.

***

“Happy birthday, Merlin,” says Morgana, with a smile, and bestows the cake on him. She hasn’t tried to kill him for _eight months_ , at least not _outright_ , and so Merlin takes it, but still eyes it warily.

“Poison?” he asks.

“Yeah."

***

Morgana is having a bit of a wander around the castle, inspecting various little bits and bobs, since she’s still not really sure what she’s meant to do now that she’s not in the villain business. She’s still supposed to be under house arrest until she stops trying to kill Merlin, but they all know that’s a sham, and that she could fight her way out of here if she wanted, could have at any point over the last two years. She’s glad no one’s yet to ask her why she hasn’t.

She puts her foot down on a step, discovers it’s not there anymore, and tumbles all the way down to bottom.

“ _Ow!_ ” she yells, clutching her head, which is bleeding through her fingers, and Merlin’s face pokes over the top of the staircase, and he waves at her. “You bastard, what was that for?”

Merlin shrugs. Morgana narrows her eyes at him, and then her gaze drifts up a bit, and with a flash of her eyes she brings one of those awful stone gargoyles tumbling down in the direction of his head. Merlin jumps out of the way at the last second.

“You’re getting rusty!” he yells, grinning, and Morgana doesn’t smile, she _doesn’t_ , she still hates him, but she admits that it is, _maybe_ , just a little bit fun.

***

“Merlin tried to kill me,” announces Morgana, in front of the court. A vein throbs in Arthur’s temple.

“Of course he did,” he says. “Merlin, your defence?”

“She’s the worst.”

“Fair enough, you’re pardoned.”

Merlin pokes his tongue out at her.

***

That happens in reverse, too, a few weeks later, when Merlin accuses her of attempted murder and tries to rope a treason charge in there as well.

”She’s threatening the safety of Camelot!” he says, gesturing, and Arthur doesn’t even look up from his list of of grain reports.

”Did she try to harm Camelot?” he asks, and Merlin splutters.

”Well, no, but—“ 

“I can’t arrest her for treason just for trying to kill you, Merlin.”

”I’m an instrumental part of keeping this kingdom alive!”

”Yes, I know,” says Arthur, and rubs wearily at his eyes. “But you have tried to kill her a lot, too. I don’t know why you can’t just put aside your differences.”

”He’s jealous,” suggests Morgana, and Merlin sends her a withering look.

”I hate you,” he says.

”I assure you the feeling is _very_ mutual, Merlin.”

***

“You’re joking,” says Morgana, and Merlin crosses his arms, and beams triumphantly at her. The dragon snorts a bit of fire.

“Truce?” asks Merlin, and Morgana shakily takes the hand she’s offered.

***

“So,” says Gwaine, frowning down at the training field, where Morgana and Merlin are having yet _another_ battle, which is practically a regular Thursday activity, now, but he’s a bit worried about how much _fun_ they seem to be having. “Should we be worried about this?”

Arthur waves a hand vaguely. He's long since given up on trying to understand it.

“I’d rather this than the sneak attacks,” he says, darkly.

“Oh, yes, those were terrible,” says Gwen, one hand on his arm, two rings on her finger. “But I think trying to kill each other is behind them.”

Merlin fires a particularly vicious looking fireball that turns into a lion at the last second.

“You think?” Gwaine asks, wearily. Arthur holds up a finger, and picks up his bow.

“Watch,” he says, and aims an arrow about a yard and a half to Merlin’s left. It's enough to be registered as a threat, but not close enough to risk actually hitting him. Arthur lets the arrow fly, and they watch as it snaps before getting within three yards of its target, falling to the ground. Gwaine squints.

“Did he do that?"

A little smile works its way onto Gwen’s face, and she shakes her head. “Morgana.”

“Huh,” says Gwaine. Merlin and Morgana have thrown themself into a back to back position, looking around for whoever they presume is attacking them, and then their eyes land on the group at the balcony, and they both let out full body groans. Merlin yells up at them.

“What?” bellows Arthur, and Merlin yells back:

_“Don’t make us admit it!”_

Arthur laughs, and claps Gwaine on the shoulder. “See? It’s fine.”

Gwaine makes a face. “I think they might be insane.”

“Oh, definitely,” says Arthur, and leaves it at that.


End file.
